


Little Wren

by yespolkadot_kitty



Series: Love Letters to Mr Cavill [7]
Category: Henry Cavill - Fandom, The Witcher (TV), The Witcher (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Roleplay, a load of nonsense really, what am I going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24644368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Inspired by the news that Henry wore the costume home some days.
Relationships: Henry Cavill & Reader, Henry Cavill & You
Series: Love Letters to Mr Cavill [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767346
Comments: 5
Kudos: 70





	Little Wren

HENRY: On my way home, little wren.

You glance at your phone and almost drop it.

_Tonight_.

Henry’s been teasing you for ages ever since you visited him on set filming the Witcher and joked that you were “wet” just from seeing him in full costume.

Except you weren’t joking.

Then when he idly suggested that he wear all the kit home one day, and surprise you, your face flamed. You tried to hide the enormous tidal wave of desire that reared its head inside you.

You never brought it up again, but Henry said if he was ever in the mood, he would tell you, and you would know. And you had mostly forgotten about it, until today.

You skidded out of the kitchen and ran upstairs as fast as your legs would carry you, stripping off as you went. Your heart beat a ragged tattoo as you slid under the covers, your mind racing. 

A key turned in the door. The locks tumbled, the door shut again.

Footfalls on the stairs. You tensed.

“Heard the services of a Witcher are required,” a deep voice rumbled from the hallway.

Your heart thumped a quick, excited one-two.

More footfalls, heavy, measured.

He appeared in the doorway, tall, broad, covered in thick, black studded leather armour. His white hair trailed over his shoulders, his jaw set in a firm line, back rigid. His legs were encased in tight fitting black breeches, laced, which led to calf-high biker-style boots.

Your mouth watered with _want_.

And when he turned his gaze on you, not amber but Henry’s ocean-blue, it somehow made you wetter.

He stalked over to the bed, looking down at the shape of your naked body under the covers. “Well?” he asked, the timbre of his Geralt voice sending a shiver through you, “ _Are_ you in need of a Witcher, little wren?”

You opened your mouth but no words came out.

Weakly, you managed to nod.

Henry’s gaze moved over your hungrily, and one gloved hand shot out to tear off the duvet.

“There is a demon inside you,” he declared huskily. “I must break its hold over you. But it will not be easy.”

You trembled, gaze locked on his armoured form as he reached into his belt pouch and took out a silk scarf. 

Wow. He’d really planned this.

He captured your wrists and tied them together with the scarf, then laid your arms above your head.

The cool air from the open bedroom window made your nipples tighten.

“Lay still, little wren,” Henry/Geralt instructed. You watched, transfixed, as he shed his leather breastplate. It fell to the floor with a thunk. His belt joined it, and then he grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed.

“This particular demon,” he began, flicking his tongue over your belly button, “responds only to pleasures of the flesh. Do you understand?”

His voice and his dark, hot gaze, and the hair and the costume already had you on the edge. You could only mewl softly in agreement.

Henry bit the inside of your thigh, gently. “I _said_ , do you understand?”

“Yes, Geralt,” you murmured, feeling yourself get impossibly wetter.

His eyes went dark, and he bent to his task, his tongue licking a long stripe from the base of your vagina to your aching clit.

You gasped, arching into his face as he got into it, gloved hands holding your thighs apart firmly as he explored you with tongue and lips and teeth, like he’d never tasted you before.

The first orgasm hit when he curled his tongue around your swollen clit, making you sob his name, and the second one crashed over you when he slipped two gloved fingers inside your, crooking them _just so_ and almost blacking you out with the white-hot pleasure.

When you came to, he was lying next to you, resting on his elbow, head propped up with one hand, looking insanely pleased with himself.

“Well, little one,” he rumbled. “I’ll take my coin, now. The demon is no more.”

Recovering, you batted your lashes. “I have no coin to speak of, Witcher, but may I offer other payment instead?”

A pale brow winged up. “I’m in a generous mood. Show me.”

Your heart pounded as you offered your bound hands. “Untie me?”

“As long as you put those pretty hands to good use, wench,” Henry/Geralt growled, and your inner muscles clenched with need for him.

He untied you and you pounced on him, rolling him under you - no mean feat for a man of Henry’s size. You captured his mouth, sinking your teeth into his lower lip, a little growl of your own escaping.

His hands slid over your hips and gripped you tight, and you rubbed yourself along the hard edge of his cock, like steel beneath the fabric of the breeches.

With a grin you moved down his body and started to tug on the laces of the black breeches with your teeth. It was slow going, but you thrilled to the ragged cadence of Henry’s breathing above you. It was turning him on, so you persisted, finally using your fingers for the last few inches of lacing.

His cock fell free into your greed palms and you gave as good as you’d got - swirling your tongue around the thick head of him and using your hands to wrap around his shaft, stroking tightly, keeping up the pressure you knew he liked.

“Fuck,” he bit out in his Geralt voice, and Jesus, wasn’t that a turn on. “Fuck, I’m-”

You eased up the pressure before he could come, and climbed over his body, mounting him and easing down on his cock. Henry moaned, a guttural, needy sound, and you savoured it as you gripped the headboard and started to move up and down on top of him.

“I’ve dreamed about fucking a Witcher,” you sassed, as you clenched your muscles, making him groan and thrust upwards to meet your hips.

“And is it all you desired?” he asked, his voice deep, raspy.

“It’s-” you started to reply, but he snaked a hand down and circled your clit. The noises your bodies made moving together were obscene, and pleasure ripped through you as Henry lifted a leg and changed the angle, thrusting deeper as he stroked you expertly. 

The orgasm hit you like a freight train, pleasure singing in your blood and making you lightheaded. You vaguely registered Henry’s shout of pleasure as you sank bonelessly down on top of him.

You lifted a hand and stroked a strand of the pale hair. “This wig is really good.”

Henry chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “I was a bit worried you might try hair pulling. If it came off mid thrust, that might’ve killed the mood.”

You snorted. “I’m so glad you did this.”

He cuddled you close. “I was so nervous. I panicked a bit on the drive home. But you know, I’d do it again.”

“Would you?” You leaned up, kissed his stubbled jaw. “Because I bet there are loads of monsters that fear orgasms….”


End file.
